


Takes One To Know One

by littleboxesofstars



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Bullying, Explicit Language, Kissing, M/M, but it's about reddie so I'll just tag them, gross amounts of fluff at the end, the rest of the losers club is here too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 09:40:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleboxesofstars/pseuds/littleboxesofstars
Summary: Eddie isn’t sure exactly when he started falling in love with Richie. Maybe at fifteen, when he realized he’d developed a crush; maybe even when they’d first met. There is one thing he is sure of, though: Richie Tozier is an idiot.





	Takes One To Know One

**Author's Note:**

> you: the world doesn’t need more reddie getting together fics, there are more than enough, you’ve already written one yourself it’s time to stop  
> me: *finger guns*  
> (the timeline is a bit off in reference to when richie joins the losers club. also, no peniswise bc who needs that clown anyway)

“I made a new friend.” Bill says. There’s pride in his voice, and when Eddie glances over at him, he’s smiling. “H-he’s going to meet us by the b-b-b-bike racks.”

“A new friend?” Stan asks. “When?”

“Yesterday. Bowers was hitting him, and broke his glasses. He t-taped them up at my house. He’s c-c-cool.”

They reach the bike racks to find that there’s no new kid there. So they wait, but Eddie doesn’t like it. Waiting around outside the school is always a bad idea. Or waiting around in the hallways. Not moving from where they are to where they're supposed to be going is generally just a bad idea, and it makes Eddie feel antsy. It had been different last year, when himself and his friends were still in fifth grade and the Bowers gang had moved on to middle school. But now Eddie is eleven and a sixth grader and in middle school too, and the bullying is worse than ever.

“We probably shouldn’t be making friends with people that get picked on by Bowers, you know?” Eddie says. “We’re just turning ourselves into a bigger target, right?”

“There’s s-safety in numbers.” Bill argues. Stanley shakes his head.

“There’s death in numbers too, Bill. It’s called a massacre.”

Then the kid starts walking up. When Bill had said “cool”, Eddie’s mind had conjured up someone tall and smart, with a nice haircut and looking embarrassingly like Bill himself. This kid is tall, sure, but the similarities to Eddie's mental image stop there. He’s lanky and gangly, wearing clashing colors with a shaggy mop of dark hair. He gives them a toothy grin and waves, breaking into a jog as he gets closer. Eddie realizes he recognizes him.

The kid’s name is Richard Tozier, and he’d sat behind Eddie in class last year, excessively annoying him with constant tapping on his desk or clicking his pen. Eddie had sent him a number of glares in an attempt to get him to stop fidgeting, but the looks must not have been as scathing as he thought they were, because Richie doesn’t look at him with any type of familiarity. He's got bruises on his face, but he's beaming.

Bill introduces Richie, who gives a silly, short little bow. Stan offers up his name next, but he’s looking at Richie with a bit of wariness on his face. Then Richie’s eyes turn to Eddie, waiting for an introduction, and Eddie finds his voice faltering for a moment.

Richie has giant glasses on, the bridge taped together like Bill said, the lenses magnifying to an incredible degree. His eyes are big and brown, with a lively brightness behind them, framed by long eyelashes. Eddie’s never really thought of eyes as pretty before, but this boy has really pretty eyes.

“Cute.”

The word is said quietly, privately, but Richie says it while looking in Eddie’s direction, Eddie frowning a little.

“What?”

“Cute, cute, cute!” Richie bounces towards him, pinching his cheek and smiling at him.

“Hey! Stop!” Eddie can feel his face burn with embarrassment and surprise, hitting at Richie’s hand, but Richie swipes it away before he can make contact. Bill laughs, and Richie giggles a bit. Even Stan begins to smile, Eddie rubbing at the spot on his face where Richie had touched him, trying to fight the blush off his face.

“What’s your name?” Richie asks him. He’s still grinning, his eyes meeting Eddie’s own.

“Eddie Kaspbrak.” Eddie says quickly.

“Eds!” Richie declares instantly, wrapping an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, and the blush is not only back but instantly stronger, Eddie grumbling “don’t call me that” in an effort to save face.

  


If Eddie had to describe Richie in one word, it would be outrageous. He’s obnoxious and loud and stupid sometimes, and Eddie finds himself talking with Richie a lot. Or, at least, talking _at_ him, because most of the time the things they say to each other are inconsequential. It’s a lot of arguing, but Eddie isn’t angry. Richie’s insulting him and smiling at the same time, and in a weird way, it’s fun. Bill is soft-spoken and Stan is reserved, but Richie has this energy that Eddie can bounce off of. Eddie’s never been one to curse much and neither are his friends, all of them slightly appalled by the phrases they hear coming out of Richie’s mouth.

Despite all of this, Eddie doesn’t realize he fully considers Richie as a member of the group until a couple of months later, the Bowers gang surrounding them on Kissing Bridge on their way into town. The bullies are circling, closing in closer and closer, Richie and Bill on either side of Eddie, with Stan at his back. Fear is crawling up Eddie's chest, making it near impossible to breathe, Richie's constant stream of “shit, shit, shit” next to him not helping at all.

Before anything can happen there’s the call of a police siren, the sound short and warning, and a cop car comes driving up. The gang make a break for it, but not before Belch Huggins takes a hard swing in Eddie’s direction. Eddie is shoved backwards before he realizes what’s happening, stumbling off his feet and into the onto the ground. Richie gets punched full in the face, the force of it causing him to lost his footing too and fall onto Bill’s shoulder.

Bill is stuttering out something but Eddie isn't paying attention, scrambling to get a look at Richie's face as Bill and Stan guide him into a sitting position on the ground. Eddie's confused, completely blindsided by what just happened, gasping and instantly nauseated by the sight of Richie's split upper lip. Blood is rushing from his face, down his chin and staining into his shirt, Richie wincing hard as he glances over at Eddie.

“You okay, Spaghetti Man?”

The words are clumsy, thick and wet, and Eddie doesn't know what to say. The question is completely ludicrous. Maybe Richie’s just dazed from being hit in the face too hard.

“I… Yeah. I’m fine.”

Richie face breaks out into a smile, the action stretching the cut in his lip wider.

“Fuck! Good, because this fucking hurts.”

At the time, Eddie is at a loss, scared and confused. Looking back, Eddie figures that’s the moment that he fell in love with Richie Tozier.

  


Richie’s cursing habits start infecting all of them. Bill still curses the least, and Stan insists he uses the words for emphasis, but Eddie is surprised by how dirty his mouth gets. The words had been cycling around in Eddie's internal monologues for weeks before he finally has the courage to open his mouth, but once he does, he just can't help it; the words are fun to say. The first time he calls Richie a _fucking_ idiot Richie turns to him, his eyes wide, before his mouth falls open in delight.

“I could kiss you.” He says.

“Don’t.”

  


That summer, they meet a boy that Eddie figures never has ever said a bad word in his entire life. Ben Hanscom is another of Bowers’s victims, and soon after meeting him they meet the girl he’s in love with, a fiery redhead named Beverly Marsh. Richie takes to Beverly instantly, the two of them dragged into their friend group in only a couple of days. Eddie likes Ben; he’s smart and helpful, and he has to admit that his crush on Beverly is sweet.

Beverly leads them to the aid of Mike Hanlon, a homeschooled kid that lives on a farm just out of town. Eddie’s the only one in his friend group that knows Mike, having talked to him a handful of times when seeing him around town, and they gravitate towards each other. Mike’s presence relaxes Eddie in the same way that Richie’s can wind him up and Eddie finds he needs it, because Richie starts hanging on him more than usual. Throwing an arm around Eddie’s shoulders at every opportunity, linking their arms while they walk, and Eddie has to ask about it.

“What's wrong with you?”

“I’m devilishly handsome, incredibly charming, and I--”

“You keep touching me.”

Richie slowly retracts his arm from Eddie’s shoulders and Eddie suddenly misses it, talking quickly.

“I mean, it’s okay, I just…”

“Do you like Mike?” Richie asks. The words come from his mouth in a rush, and Eddie notices that the tops of Richie’s ears have turned red.

“Like Mike?” Eddie frowns. “Like… _Like_ Mike?” He's surprised. The question must have more than a platonic implication; all of them liked Mike as a friend. Richie nods, and Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Do you think I do?”

“...maybe, yeah. You guys talk a lot, and you're next to him all the time, and… I dunno.”

Eddie wonders if Richie realizes that he not only described Eddie's relationship with Mike, but Eddie's relationship with Richie himself, too. It doesn't seem as though he does.

“Oh. Well, no. We’re friends, Richie. He’s just my friend, same as you.”

“Oh.” Richie squirms a little, easing a bit more into the couch cushions. “Right, sure.”

“But, I…” Eddie swallows quickly, the next words coming from his mouth before he realizes he wants to say them, everything a rush. “I do like guys, though.”

Silence stretches between them, long and awkward, and Richie rubs his palms against the jeans covering his thighs.

“Oh.” He says again. “Okay. Cool.”

“Is it? Because you’re acting weird and I just--”

“Nah, Eds. It’s cool, really.” Richie smiles, and while convincing, he looks a little nervous at the same time. But it feels good, feels good to tell someone what he’s known about himself since middle school, and later that day he comes out to the rest of his friends. They're just as supportive, if not more so, and the seven of them navigate high school together.

  


Adopting kids into their group that are picked on by Bowers does paint a larger target on their collective backs, but not so much at school anymore. They outnumber the Bowers gang now, so if the bullies try anything, they usually have enough resources to collect themselves and get away. As a result they're usually only picked on if caught in smaller groups, and god forbid someone decides to walk around town alone.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, after school, Eddie sitting at the kitchen table doing homework, his mom still out at work. Eddie's front door opens unannounced before slamming closed again and his entire body freezes in fear and apprehension, gripping his pencil like a knife and tiptoeing around the corner to the front room. When he sees what's there, his pencil falls to the floor.

It's Richie, slumped against his door with a fat lip and a rapidly bruising right eye, some injury hiding under his bangs that's causing blood to run down the side of his face. The bottom drops out of Eddie's stomach as Richie's knees buckle, and he rushes forwards, steadying him before he can fall.

“What the hell?” Eddie asks, already working to get Richie over to the table, but Richie's legs aren't quite working.

“Your house was the closest.” Richie's words are slurred with pain. “It's okay. I fought them off.”

“Yeah right, you fucking idiot.” Eddie sits Richie down, examining his head, trying to figure out just how heavy duty he needed to get with the bandages and disinfectant. Thanks to his mother's paranoia--a paranoia that has become his own--their house is well stocked to deal with any cuts, scrapes, and injuries. “I can't believe you just--how could you--”

“Quit it.” Richie complains. “I'm not gonna die. I'm fine.”

“You are a lot of things, Richie, but fine is not fucking one of them.”

Eddie doesn't know why he's so panicked but he is, trying to work quickly, setting Richie's broken glasses on the table and pushing his bangs back, starting to clean the blood off his face. Richie tells him what happened, from the start of the punching to when he hit his head on a rock and pretended to be unconscious until he was left alone. He says Vic Criss kicked him a lot but doesn't allow Eddie to look at his stomach, saying that it's just bruising, anyway. Eddie still gets him an ice pack though.

“There.” Eddie says, when he feels like he's done all he can do. Richie's face is free of blood and all his cuts are covered, though he'll still be black and blue for a little while. “How do you feel?”

“Still hurts.” Richie says vaguely, the words coming out in an exhale.

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

Eddie doesn't know what compels him to do it; maybe it's because it's what his mother used to do to him, or maybe compassion, or empathy, but Eddie leans forward and kisses Richie on the forehead. As soon as his lips touch Richie's skin Eddie feels a jolt running through his whole body, something electric about it, his pulse quickening. The sensation is cause for enough concern to pull back, and he's met with Richie's big brown eyes and long eyelashes and high cheekbones and shit, _shit_ , a crush that was four years in the making is coming to light in the middle of his fucking kitchen. Eddie takes a few quick steps back, his heart still hammering, his eyes on Richie's face.

“You know, Eds…” Richie is still talking slowly, reaching up to touch one of the Band-Aids on his cheekbone, a bruise already blossoming out all around it. “It… It really feels like I'm falling in love with you, sometimes.”

For a moment, Eddie doesn't know what to do. He tells Richie that he's been hit in the head one too many times. He tells himself that his words to Richie are true, that Richie probably has a concussion or something, and that he shouldn't get his hopes up. He doesn't forget the moment for a long, long time.

  


“We have a problem!” Richie declares, tromping from Bill's kitchen to the living room. The rest of the Losers are lying around on the furniture, waiting for the popcorn that Eddie is carrying in, hurrying after Richie.

“Yeah?” Mike asks, concerned. “What's up?”

Eddie glares at Richie.

“Beep beep, you fucking asshole.” He tries, but the words have no effect, Richie's voice loud and indignant.

“Eddie won't suck my dick.”

Eddie's face burns. There's complete silence, save for a poorly concealed snort of laughter from Beverly.

“Have you asked nicely?” Stan finally asks.

“No, hypothetically!” Richie starts. “We were in the kitchen, slaving away to make popcorn for all of you bastards, and we were talking, right? About what we would do if we were the last people on Earth.”

“I don't like w-where this is going.” Bill says.

“We already know where it's going.” Ben reminds him.

“Dick sucking is where this is going.” Richie says, and Eddie, deciding he doesn't want to fight Richie on this for a second time, surrenders himself to a seat on the couch. This had been their conversation, sure, but Richie is leaving out all of the instances where Eddie had tried to steer the topic of talk somewhere else. It was an idea he couldn't afford to entertain. “Even though we're going to die alone on a desolate planet, he won't just buck up and have some fun.”

“Good.” Beverly says.”You don't deserve it.”

Richie flops down next to Eddie on the couch, grabbing a handful of popcorn.

“But he won't even tell me why, either. Come on, Eds! How much money would it take? Five thousand? Ten thousand?”

“No.” Eddie says flatly. He doesn't want to think about this, about Richie's hypothetical proposal, but as Richie tilts his head back to throw some popcorn into his mouth, exposing his adam's apple and the hollow of his throat, it gets a little more difficult. He's seventeen, he supposes. It's just his hormonal body, not his hopeless crush on Richie. Definitely not his hopeless crush on Richie.

“One hundred thousand?”

“Fucking hell, Richie.” Stan says. “Really?”

“Hypothetically!” Richie says quickly. “I said my amount for his dick, and now he's gotta tell me his. Except he won't agree to anything!”

“That's 'cause he knows you don't have a hundred thousand dollars.” Mike says. He’s grinning like this is the funniest thing he’s heard all week, and Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and wishes he wasn’t blushing so badly. He's considering leaving the room.

“A million, Eds? It's gotta be a million.”

“No.”

“But you've seen my dick, it's a fine dick, right?”

“And I'm not going to put it in my mouth for any amount of money!” Eddie exclaimes defiantly.

“Yeah, why are you s-so curious about this?” Bill asks.

“I mean, you know. It's a game. It's all hypothetical.”

“Hypothetical or not, can we stop talking about dicks?” Ben asks, and Eddie is eternally grateful, because he's about half a thought away from grabbing a pillow to put over his lap, and that wouldn't be discreet at all. “I want to watch Star Wars now.”

“Fine!”

Mike gets up to press play, and the movie starts. The room is silent during the entire opening crawl, but it only takes about ten minutes for Richie to open his mouth again.

“But seriously, how about it Haystack? What about you, ten thousand?”

Ben promptly chokes on a piece of popcorn, and Beverly bursts out laughing.

  


Eddie thinks that his feelings for Richie should just be part of his profile by now with how obvious he feels like he's being, which he hates, but he can't help it. Something someone just associated with him when they saw him. Short, gay, asthmatic, and in love with Richie Tozier.

Because of this, he doesn't get how Richie doesn't know it yet. Richie is stupid, sure, but they're sitting on Richie's bed and Richie's head is in Eddie's lap and Eddie playing with his hair, and Eddie didn't think Richie was _this_ stupid. But maybe he is.

“Alright Eds. I've been thinking about it, and I give up.”

“Thinking about what?”

“Why you won't suck my dick.”

Nevermind. Richie is definitely this stupid.

“Richie! That was like… A month ago. I thought we weren't talking about this anymore.”

“Yeah, sure.” Richie shrugs the best he can while laying down. “We're not. I just don't get how you're gay, but so freaked out by gay shit.”

A surge of anger has Eddie shoving Richie off the bed and onto the floor. He lands half on his ass and half on his elbows and lets out a string of curses, scrambling into a more dignified position.

“What the fuck?”

“You think I should want to do anything like that with you just because I'm gay? Really Richie?”

“No! Shit, Eddie, that's not what I meant. It's like that thing you and Bev do. Talking about boys, or whatever.”

“You saying that you'd suck my dick for ten dollars during the apocalypse is not talking about boys!” Eddie exclaimes, the sheer absurdity of the sentence egging his anger on further. “Talking about boys is… Fuck, I don't know, saying that Trevor McCaskill's butt is cute, or debating which of the football players you wouldn't mind going into the locker room showers with, or just... Doing stuff with people you find attractive.”

“Yeah.” Richie says as he gets to his feet, his words slow and enunciated, as though for some reason, Eddie is the stupid one. “Exactly.”

Eddie lets out a fast breath through his nose.

“Richie, I'm flattered okay, but--”

“Eddie! Fuck, dude, can you slow down for like one second?”

“What?”

“I like you, alright?”

It takes a few moments for Eddie's brain to catch up with what Richie is saying.  

“You like me?” He asks back, his voice sounding dumb in his ears, his anger dissipating. Richie smiles a little, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yes. I mean, I think so.”

“Think so?” Eddie echoes. Richie's grin widens.

“Okay. I'm like two hundred percent sure. And have been for like... Three years or something.”

“And…” Eddie's mind is reeling. Richie likes him. Richie's telling him he likes him. “And you thought the best way to bring it up was like this? Really?”

“Hey, Eddie? You can yell at me all you want, but please just tell me how you feel first because I'm like one word of rejection away from running the hell out of here.”

Eddie pulls himself from his own surprise long enough to see that Richie's smile has faded and he's watching Eddie's face nervously, edging towards his bedroom door. Eddie almost reminds him that running would be stupid, because this is Richie's own bedroom, but he gets up from the bed instead, walking closer.

“Eds--” Richie starts, and then Eddie kisses him. It takes only a moment for Richie to respond, kissing him back with incredible ardency, pulling him in to hold him as close as he can. One hand is cupping Eddie's cheek, the other holding tightly to his hip, as though afraid he would drift away, or disappear. And Eddie is reveling in it, a feeling of happiness welling up in his chest until his lungs feel tight for air.

He pulls back, too embarrassed to look at Richie yet, resting his forehead against Richie's collarbone instead. Richie's other hand falls down to his hips too, playing with the hem of Eddie's shirt. Not trying to push it up, or move it; just fidgeting, like Richie's fingers do.

“So, I, uh…” Eddie finds that for some reason, he has to speak softly. “I like you.”

“Yeah.” Richie answers. His voice sounds a bit strange.

“Rich?”

“Just… Hold on a second.”

That has Eddie a bit concerned, looking up to see Richie's expression. Richie is smiling, smiling so stupidly that he gets embarrassed, hiding his face in the crook of Eddie's neck instead. Eddie has to laugh, though upon seeing Richie so happy, feels cheated that this hadn't happened sooner.

“You really had to make this as hard as possible, didn't you.” He can't help but say, and Richie is back to his old self, mumbling against Eddie's skin.

“I have something else that's hard.”

“Oh my god.” Eddie lets himself fall back onto Richie's bedspread. “I can't believe I'm in love with such an idiot.”

Richie pounces like a cat, sprawled half on top of Eddie, their legs hopelessly tangled.

“Say that again.” He requests, and that's when Eddie realizes his wording, turning bright red and trying to shove Richie onto the floor a second time. But Richie is too big, and actually has leverage, and all he succeeds in doing is making Richie laugh. They wrestle a bit, sharing a couple of kisses in the process, and when Eddie finally does repeat himself, Richie doesn't have anything clever to say. He just beams instead, a blush blossoming up to his ears.

“I've always thought you were cute.” He confesses.

“I know.” Eddie responds. “You called me cute the first time we met.”

“No kidding?”

“Yeah. Pinched my cheek and everything.”

Richie grins, taking Eddie's face in his hands, one palm against each cheek. Eddie is already prepared to roll his eyes, a blush on his face that he's trying very hard to pretend isn't there.

“Cute, cute, cute!” Richie says, a laugh in his voice, pressing a kiss to Eddie's lips.

“You're an idiot.” Eddie can't help but say, as Richie pulls away.

“Sure.” Richie rests easily against his chest. “But you're an idiot that loves me.”

Eddie can't argue with that.


End file.
